


trouvaille

by vivani



Series: amabilia ; miraculous ladybug ; mischowen [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Miraculous Ladybug - Freeform, Miraculous Ladybug OCs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 12:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16516679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivani/pseuds/vivani
Summary: trouvailletroo-vinouna lucky find.





	trouvaille

**Author's Note:**

> mischa markov is an original miraculous ladybug character.  
> owen o'connor is an original, non-fandom character that belongs to my girlfriend.  
> miraculous ladybug belongs to thomas astruc and zagtoon.  
> all characters are 18. 
> 
> for my girlfriend.

_He's been watching him for a while._

 

> Which, in any other context, would sound weird; however, Owen O'Connor had very quickly become the cynosure to Mischa Markov's life--and he wasn't certain that he would be any less anytime soon. Furtive glances and evocative movements often left the Russian native alone in his room, in the dark, soft and hot breaths escaping from his lips as the thoughts of his boyfriend entrapped his hands to himself.
> 
>  
> 
> And that was only as far as it would go, or as far as Mischa dares to venture. Owen is particularly shy, and it really doesn't take much to make his cheeks burn red, which causes him to never bring up the subject. In fact, Mischa has tried to diminish all thoughts of it around him--when he spoke, not very often really, it was very blunt. That is exactly why he began to avoid being alone with his boyfriend, and, consequently, this causes a rift in their relationship. Owen had felt that Mischa was ignoring him, upset with him, but in reality, he was just scared of hurting him or making him uncomfortable. 
> 
>  

_That only worked for a little._

 

> One afternoon, as the bell rings to release students from their final class of the day, Mischa's elbow is caught by a hand. Turning back, his cold, hard eyes latch onto the pale hand that had tugged on the sleeve of his own turtleneck. Raising his gaze, he softens instantly at the sight of his boyfriend's face--flushed, naturally red cheeks, orange bangs hanging in front of forests.
> 
>  

**"why've you been avoiding me?"**  

 

> Mischa blinks. The tone is awfully hard and confrontational, a stark contrast from his usual light and happy tone. Pressing his lips together, the white-haired Russian leans down and gives him a hard stare. This slightly throws Owen off, eyebrows raising slightly, before returning to his frustrated stance.
> 
>  
> 
> A dark-skinned hand, presented by Mischa, plucks the delicate digits off the fine fabric of his sweater. It wasn't unusual for him to be so unresponsive, but he had always answered through his actions... such as pulling Owen out of the school building and leading him down the street. Every movement he makes is scrutinized, but he never once turns back to look at his partner. The rabbit kwami from inside Mischa's bag squeals disapprovingly; Hopper had been desperately trying to teach Mischa about being reckless,  _especially_ around Owen, and this was  _directly going against protocol!_
> 
>  
> 
> When they arrive at Mischa's aunt's apartment, the living room is dark, which meant that his aunt wasn't home. Letting the door slam behind them, Owen stumbled into the dark, unaware of his surroundings--after all, no matter how many times he'd ask to come over, Mischa would always refuse. However, there's no time to really think over it, because he's forced to drop his bags on the floor when he feels lips on his neck and chin. Eyelashes fluttering in a soft, frightened manner, he lets his hands explore the skin surrounding his navel and further up.
> 
>  
> 
> This was unfamiliar to Owen; dark lips suckling softly on his jawline, hands circling his pectorals, shivers and gasps resulting as responses. 

 

**"m-mischa..."**

 

> The whimper prompts Mischa to immediately pull back, concern flashing in his eyes momentarily. Owen's throat felt dry, his lips pressing together before he swallows thickly. What does he say to this? Does he let it continue? It seems that Mischa is awaiting for these answers, thumb hesitating over the top point of his chest, wanting his verbal consent before he moves on.
> 
>  

**"what? what's wrong?"**

 

> And this is the first time he's spoken throughout the whole ordeal. Owen's face flushes at the rumble he felt through his hand and onto his chest.
> 
>  

**"n-nothing, i'm just... i'm quite concerned because you were behaving in a strange manner, but now you're all over me. what's been happening?"**

 

> Even though Mischa's fingers hovered above Owen's nipple, knee hiked between his legs, and the start of a hickey forming on his collarbone, Mischa could feel his cheeks turn a scarlet red. It wasn't very often that people had stopped to dote on him, or even give him a second thought, and he still had yet to become accustomed to Owen's worrying.  
>    
>    
> 

**"no. no,"** he shakes his head.  **"no. i like you, a lot. a whole lot, and--"** his breath catches in his throat.  **"and i need this. i need you."**

 

> Owen blinks, lifting his hands to squish Mischa's cheeks. Dark, half-lidded eyes catch his lustful penumbra, and it seems that... it seems that Owen, his beautiful companion, was too shy to give direct confirmation. But Mischa wasn't having any of that.
> 
>  

**"tell me,"** he whispers,  **"tell me you want all of it. i want to grab you, pull you beneath me, keep you still and hold you down and-and-"**

 

> Mischa reaches forward to grab under Owen's chin, a frustrated puff of air escaping his nostrils as he attempts to contain his words to an  _appropriate_ level.   
>    
> 

**"or i won't give you anything."**

 

> Nearly dissolving beneath his hot fingers, Owen feels the intense need of flesh on his own. And he tells Mischa what he wants--as the white-haired boy's fingers clasped around his nipple and his lips return back to burning skin, Owen tells him  _exactly_ _what he wants from him._ The growing tent pressed against the ginger's thigh, warmth radiating from it like dragon's breath. And everything's hot--too hot for Mischa, personally, but he couldn't help it because he wanted to get  _closer, closer, closer._
> 
>  
> 
> A hand drags down Owen's stomach, dipping into the hem of his sweatpants in a teasing manner before raising back up to grab hold of his wrist, pushing it into the wall above them. Lips worked away around his collarbone, moving up to his jaw and dropping back down, leaving a defined line of love spots across his paper-like complex. Mischa wanted  _more_ , nothing was satisfying him, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it.
> 
>  
> 
> Owen's free hand lifts, grabbing his chin and forcing him to make eye contact. However, eye contact is what causes the green-eyed boy to lose his sudden burst of confidence.
> 
>  

**"p-please, mischa,"** he manages to get out, his voice pitch lifting at the end as a knee experimentally pushes up against the imprint in his sweatpants.

 

> A chuckle is elicited from the dominant, causing Owen to shiver. It's just the thing that needed to push him forward. Now, from his years of being Krilik in the streets of Paris, he had gained... a bit of muscle. Bending down, Mischa hooks his arms under his boyfriend's thighs, lifting him up and settling him down on the couch. Ah, poor Mischa--he'd have to scrub the cushions free of their sins before his aunt got home. That was fine. It was worth what he was about to do.
> 
>  
> 
> Eyes looked to the figure under him, and he pauses, actions reeling in his brain. The forbearance in his sweatpants, the sweat beading on his forehead, the bruised flesh on his neck and littered across his collarbone. It made Owen seem like an  _angel_. Reaching down, Mischa barely uses the efforts in his biceps to tear open the waistband of his boyfriend's trousers. A squeal comes from beneath him, making the ghost of a smile appear on his lips, and he simply uses the torn edges to pull them off.
> 
>  
> 
> Immediately, he's on top of him, pressing himself into the apparent bulge, desperate to treat the pressure that he felt building. Touching Owen was just at satisfying, just as rewarding as being touched, himself. Lips latching onto his nipple, he allows the cover of his flesh to help his teeth massage around the bud, tongue peaking out to swirl around before escaping back into cover. Owen curves his back, a soft gasp escaping him as he thrusts his hips up to try and feel any sort of release from the lack of attention.
> 
>  
> 
> Was that okay for him? Was he doing this correctly? Mischa seems to respond to his worries, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips before moving down to kiss along his stomach, stopping at the start of his boxers. Eyes lifting up in an ominous manner, he pulls them down, Owen's cheeks staining red--and it makes Mischa laugh. Hands moving to his thighs, he softly runs them up and down the insides. A whine escapes his lover's lips, and he complies to his wishes, hand wrapping around the shaft of his member, hearing a desperate moan in response.
> 
>  

**"don't worry. i promise i'll be kind to you,"** he mumbles against the flesh against his thigh.

 

> Owen assumed he had different intentions in mind, but they were disproved when he returns to his original position, hovering over him with his hand gripped around the base. Letting out another pleading moan, Owen moves his hips in a circle motion, desperate to get off. Frowning, Mischa's free hand presses into his hips, forcing them against the couch and ceasing their movement. Huffing in defeat, yet still squirming a tad bit, he watches him with careful eyes. 
> 
>  
> 
> Mischa momentarily moves back to shuck off his pants, but it's rushed, because he's just as impatient as his partner is. Crawling back over him, he takes his hips in his hands, lifting Owen to a better angle. At first, he's gentle, because he knows it's his first time--but he's so needy, he might have thrust forward a bit too fast, eliciting sharp, disapproving and painful words from Owen. Susurrus starts rising from the boy underneath him, and Mischa grabs his shaft again, gently using it as a stimulus for Owen and a tool to help guide his own hips. 
> 
>  
> 
> Though he's slow and cautious, he watches the pain reflect in his eyes, and the way his teeth pulls at his own lip. Frowning, his free hand intertwines their fingers above Owen's head, pressing a caring kiss against his forehead. It seems to calm him a little, and he begins a quick pace. Soft sounds start up from the angel beneath him, encouraging him to move faster, faster, until he feels Owen's legs hook around him. Sucking in a breath of pleasure, Mischa releases his member and grabs a hold of his shoulder, throwing more force into his movements. Sighs turn into moans, moans turning into broken words of pleasure, until Mischa cannot think about anything else except  _him. him. him. him. hi_
> 
>  
> 
> His own moans become audible, mashing with Owen's, who, when he looks up, is making hard eye contact but quickly looks away, cheeks flushing a brighter color. And this goes on, his hips slamming into the small body of his lover, until Mischa's eyes notice his phone screen light up. It's his aunt--she's on her way back from work. Swallowing thickly, he ignores it and picks up the pace, becoming a tad bit more rough with Owen than intended. Owen gasps in surprise, so entranced in the previous pace that the new one interrupts his voice, his moan choking up and becoming broken. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sighing softly in pleasure, Mischa's hand grips his shoulder tighter, the thrusts of his hips becoming more uneven and desperate. He's nearing the end, and it seems that Owen is already there--releasing with a sharp gasp, the ginger's body experiences a fit of shakes, the substance decorating the pale skin of his own stomach. The display makes Mischa quiver, his release boosted by it, pulling out and joining Owen's own liquid.
> 
>  
> 
> Sighing, he leans down and presses a kiss to his lips, loving and full of care. He can't seem to drag himself away from Owen--but, as he listens to the sound of a car pull in, he practically throws him off the couch.
> 
>  

**"move!"** he hisses, and scrambles to clean up their mess.

 

 

 

 


End file.
